


you awake

by bronzeyourskies



Category: Warcraft - All Media Types, World of Warcraft
Genre: Character Death, Graphic Description of Corpses, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Kinda?, Mild Gore, Not Really Character Death, Other, Past Character Death, Tags Are Hard, Temporary Character Death, anyways have fun yall, idk there Sure Are Dead Things, just all the tags you can associate w the undead really, uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-11
Updated: 2019-10-11
Packaged: 2020-12-07 21:23:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20982590
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bronzeyourskies/pseuds/bronzeyourskies
Summary: you awake, strangely calm, in a place you do not recognize.





	you awake

You awake, strangely calm, in a place you do not recognize. 

Your body is heavy, strangely so, and you stare up into a strange, green-hazy night sky. You can trace the constellations with your strangely misty eyes- Big Dipper, Cassiopeia, the wide wings of Cygnus. You’re laid down uncomfortably- you have yet to muster up the willpower to sit- with your arms crossed over your chest. You’re surrounded on all sides by dry, crumbling brown-black walls- dirt. As you crane your neck down to see the length of your body, you notice you are dressed in some of your nicest clothes, the ones you almost always picked out when you had to dress up. Slowly, carefully, you uncross your arms, press your hands firmly across the surface beneath you, and push yourself into a sitting position.   
  
You wince, expecting a head rush, hazy vision, something to indicate how long you were lying asleep for- but all you feel is the change in angle. Sitting like you are, your head reaches maybe halfway up the earthen walls around you. A halfway-remembered line about burying things six feet deep comes to mind, and with it comes a full-body shudder. There are splinters of wood littering the ground around you.    
  
Things weren’t matching up- there was no dry throat, no itchy eyes, not pounding headache or cotton-mouth that would warrant not remembering how you had gotten here, wherever here was. The last thing you remember, you think as you wobble your way into standing-    
  
And stopped to stare, as the ground around you at eye level is filled with gravestones, upturned earth, crypts and mausoleums. You are standing in a grave, and as you slowly turn around to take in the view, you see the name on the headstone. It is yours.

The last thing you remember is the crying, the screaming, the hungry moans that had filled the night. Telling your family and friends to run, that you would hold off the threat. The fear on their faces as they failed to change your mind and fled, leaving you behind. The sick, ravening growls- the hands tearing into your flesh- the screaming, the  _ screaming, your screaming- _

You look at your hands, look at the exposed bone, the gristle. You take in your mouldering, hole-filed clothes. You see the shattered and rotting remains of the coffin in the bottom of your grave. You can’t breathe, you realize, you aren’t breathing, but you don’t need to. You can feel the broken bone and shredded meat in your torso shifting when you try.    
  
At least, you think desperately, at least you saved your friends.

You look at the empty, clawed-open grave next to yours own. You read the name on its headstone. You feel your empty, clawed-open stomach twist.    
  
You recognize that name.


End file.
